The Words He Could Never Say
by AdmiralAwesome
Summary: This is my version of the end of episode 3 season 2, The Reichenbach Fall... Rated M for themes...  WARNING: This story contains spoilers of the episode. Read at own risk :  Enjoy


_**The Words He Could Never Say:**_

**[A/N]: Hey Everyone, this is my version of the end of episode three of season two of Sherlock. It's extremely fluffy, and I almost cried while writing it… Read, Enjoy and Review, let me know if it's good bad or ugly :)**

**I listened to '**_**Better Than I Know Myself'**_** by Adam Lambert while writing this. I think it's Sherlock and Watson's theme song, honestly, it's perfect for them.**

**WARNING: ****This story contains spoilers. You have been warned; so if you don't want to know what happens in the episode, don't read. Either that, or YouTube the episode then read :P**

"Why today?" my psychiatrist asked. The rain storming down outside fit my mood perfectly. It was days like this that he was often playing his violin, staring out into the street, watching people travel by. Just thinking about him hurt. Looking over at her, I almost questioned what I was doing here.

"Do you want to hear me say it?" I asked, anger seeping out in my voice. She sat there, watching me trying to rein my emotions in.

"18 months since our last appointment…" she trailed off.

"You read the papers?" I almost interrupted. She hesitated before answering.

"Sometimes…" "And you watch telly… You know why I'm here. I'm here because-" Cutting off, I couldn't say it. I could never say what I needed to when it counted. I couldn't even stop him from-

"What happened John?" My psychiatrist asked, dragging my thoughts back to reality.

"Sherlock…" I choked, tears threatening to spill over as I struggled to hold them back.

"You need to get it out," she said, calmly, but with a hint of impatience. I wonder if she was late for a date or something. He was rubbing off on me, getting off topic, thinking of all the minor, disruptive details that were somehow always so crucial.

"My best friend… Sherlock Holmes… he's dead."

I went on to tell her the whole story. The story of how Sherlock became famous. Of how it was all an elaborate plan to discredit the name of Sherlock Holmes, to make everyone believe that he was a fraud. A liar. How Jim Moriarty, a criminal mastermind, created a game in which the only way to win was to lose. A game of power, which resulted in Moriarty and Sherlock both… dead. Leaving me alone, with so much to say, to ask.

Now, I was sitting talking to my psychiatrist, who probably didn't care about all this, but she was the only one who would just sit there and listen. Listen, and then ask the right questions that would help me.

"The stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't say it…" she stated, a questioning note hanging in the air. Muttering a quiet "yeah," I let her continue. "Say it now." I was slightly shocked at this. She expected me to tell her things that I couldn't tell myself out loud, let alone Sherlock.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't..." I replied in a slightly disjointed manner, before leaving her sitting there, gazing after me concerned.

The next day, Mrs. Hudson and I visited Sherlock's grave, plain black headstone resting under a large tree. After a bit, Mrs. Hudson left, leaving me alone with Sherlock.

"Umm…" I started, hesitant and apprehensive. "You… you told me once, that you weren't a hero. Umm… there were times I didn't even think you were human…" Pausing, I almost chuckled at the absurdity of the whole thing.

"But let me tell you this; you were the best man, the most human, human being I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, yeah so, there." Tears flooding back, I resisted the urge to wipe my eyes. He wouldn't want me crying for him, that much I knew...

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much, 'kay." Before Sherlock had come into my life, I spent my days wandering around London, lost and alone. My nights were plagued by nightmares of the war, things I had done that I regretted. Sherlock was like a ray of sun shining through my dark clouds. His egotistical personality and incredible intelligence captured my attention. No one was like him. The first time I had met him, he told me my life story from on glance. In all of our adventures, he had never put me in danger voluntarily, and without seeming to notice. This naivety of his was refreshing, and surely enough, I began to fall in love with him. The one thing I couldn't say out loud to anyone else. I was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and now he was dead because I couldn't protect him.

Bringing myself back to the present, I began to walk off but paused, looking back.

"Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't be… dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this." Almost begging him, I stifled a sob, refusing to cry. Choking out my last three words to him, I let a tear run down my cheek.

"I love you."

Watching from the shadows, Sherlock's eyes followed John as he left the cemetery. He couldn't believe half of what he had said. He hadn't realized that he had affected one man's life so drastically, and he physically had to stop himself from running after John. He couldn't believe that all this time, all the things they had gone through together, that John Watson loved him. His love wasn't one-sided after all, and now it was too late to tell him how he felt, to comfort him.

"Someday John, I will tell you everything," he vowed. "So wait for me, my love."


End file.
